Eternal
by Ember2007
Summary: 100 yrs after the Fall of Galbatorix, Eragon's life goals have been accomplished, save one. The king is dead, he solidified the various new governments, and re-established the Riders. But one piece is missing, the most precious piece of the puzzle, Arya.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everybody! I decided to start another story. If you have not read "Ember" please do so. This story picks up about one hundred years after the fall of Galbatorix.

In this story I have made a few assumptions that you will need to know about the end of book 4.

- Thorn and Murtagh fight for the Varden at the end of the War.

-Islanzadi dies in the final battle. Arya does not wish to take her place so an elf lord named Dethmilean is appointed to become King of the Elves.

- The green egg was found after the final battle and hatched shortly thereafter.

I have listed these assumptions because I do not wish to go into detail about them in this story.

Enjoy and review afterwards!

**Chapter 1: Forever**

Eragon sat in a large, comfortable chair in his lower chamber located on the second highest level in the Vroengard castle tower. Looking out of a large, open window, he could see the western coast of Alagaesia. A layer of deep mist obscured the coast line leaving only the snowy peaks of the Spine visible to Eragon's keen vision. The distant waves rolled lazily over the deep blue surface of the sea creating a dull roar that barley reached the high window in Eragon's chamber.

The rider's bright eyes shifted to the grey, stone walls of his quarters. Several fairths he had made nearly one hundred years ago hung around the elegant room. The first was a depiction of his magnificent dragon, Saphira. Her wings were spread and her powerful neck was curved in a menacing pose. Razor sharp, pearlescent teeth were barely visible through her slightly curled lips. Startlingly brilliant azure scales caught a glimmer of moonlight from somewhere off the parchment. She was the perfect image of raw power combined with pure beauty. In the background, a piercing shaft of white lightning was splitting the sky, illuminating Saphira's figure in startling definition. But the central focus of the fairth was Saphira's eyes. In the moment that this image depicted, her eyes were alight with a fire of anger and fierceness. But behind the mask of momentary emotions, a definite glimmer of wisdom and ancient thought stirred behind those pools of sapphire. It was more than a memory. It was a nearly perfect image of how Eragon thought of Saphira, his closest friend and dearest companion.

His eyes shifted again to another fairth on the wall. This image was of a far different feel than the image of Saphira beside it for it was from a happier time. Now it brought only sweet memories of a time long ago. The happiest times of Eragon's life. In the picture stood Eragon dressed in a finely designed elvish tunic that mirrored the color of Saphira's scales. Standing next to him was a tall, broad man who looked faintly like Eragon, but far more human and masculine in appearance. It was Roran. He looked much different than Roran the farmer who had grown up in Carvahall along with Eragon. This was Roran Stronghammer, King of Alagaesia. His eyes were deep set and penetrating. A golden circlet was resting atop his thick, dark hair.

It had been almost one hundred years since Eragon had ended the rule of King Galbatorix. Now, Alagaesia was once again known as the Broddring Kingdom as it had been so long ago. During the battle of Dras-Leona, the leader of the Varden, Nasuada, was grievously wounded by a poisoned arrow and was forced to resign her position due to her lengthy and painful recovery. Nasuada had long ago appointed Eragon to succeed her should she ever die, but he could not possibly serve the Varden in that capacity. He immediately began to search for a new leader to pass the title on to.

Jeod of Teirm, a brilliant historian and once friend of Brom, Eragon's father, discovered an ancient line of kings that used to rule Alagaesia. They had settled in the Palancar Valley and diminished into no more than a simple farming town. The last direct descendant was a woman named Katrina, daughter of the traitor Sloan and wife of Roran Stronghammer. Due to the law of the Old Kingdom, if the direct heir to the throne was a woman, the crown would go to her husband, whoever he may be. Thus the kingship fell to Roran.

The fairth on the wall brought back tearful memories. Roran had died in the 54th year of the new age, nearly forty-five years ago. Currently, Roran's grandson, Tristen, was the ruler of the Broddring Kingdom. Tristen is an elf-human mix for his father, Brom the Peacemaker, married a young elf named Narillia. Many had been skeptical of having the line of kings become long lived beings. Galbatorix's shadow still hung heavy over the land and many were fearful that having the same king for nearly three hundred years might be a sure way to tyranny, but the fact that many elves were now moving into the land made it an even balance. If the land was going to be populated by both men and elves, it would only seem fit to have a line of kings that contained both bloods.

Eragon let thoughts and memories flood through his mind like an unrelenting flow. It had been difficult for him to grow accustomed to outliving all his loved ones, but Saphira had helped him greatly along the way. He would never get used to it, but he had accepted the burden long ago. He stood from his chair and slowly turned to the wall behind him to study another fairth he had made. The memory he had used to create this fairth was a memory from the day Galbatorix had died. That same day was now the most celebrated and most mourned day in all of history for more blood had been shed on that day than on any other day in known history.

The image was one of Murtagh astride his mighty dragon, Thorn. The sky seemed to reflect the deep ruby of Thorn's scales in a pale red glimmer. Smoke was more predominant than cloud in the background. Murtagh was leaning forward slightly in the saddle, eyes bent on an unknown target, his face hard set with concentration. In his right hand, held high above his head, was that cursed blade, Zar'roc. That same sword now rested in a finely crafted case in the corner of Eragon's study.

Murtagh had survived that dark day, but Thorn had not. He was killed by a Shade of Galbatorix's creation, Crucious. The Shade had beaten Murtagh in a duel, and then immobilized both of them with magic. He then forced Murtagh to watch as he slew Thorn with his own blade, Zar'roc. Murtagh ended up freeing himself and plunging the same blade through the Shade's twisted heart. After the battle was over, Murtagh disappeared for several years. Once Vroengard had been rebuilt, the red rider reappeared and came to stay on the Island for a few years. In that time he took a vow never to use a sword again since it was a sword that ended the life of his dearest friend. He gave Zar'roc, the "Sword of Misery" as it was now called, to Eragon for safekeeping. He had asked his brother never to allow anyone to use it ever again, and Eragon had kept his promise, keeping the blade enclosed within the confines of a case he made and sealed with magic several years ago. Murtagh then took Nasuada, who had become a member of the royal council, to be his wife and the two had lived a long and full life, but they never had any children.

Eragon allowed himself to reminisce about the few good times he had shared with his half-brother. Nasuada had died long ago. Murtagh was still alive, but he was aging quickly due to the absence of Thorn. Eragon rarely saw him anymore, but from what he knew Murtagh had been offered a place of rest in the far northern reaches of Du Weldenvarden by the King of the Elves, Dethmilean.

Eragon's head began to spin with regrets and emotions that he so often ignored. That Day, the Day when he had finally brought an end to the life of Galbatorix, had defined the rest of Eragon's existence. Everywhere he went, people stepped aside and admired him with silent awe and respect. His name could not even be spoken without a surge of power rushing through the veins of everyone who heard it. He was more than a hero, he was a living legend.

Eragon closed his eyes and went back in his memories to the day he finally found the Vault of Souls. _He walked carefully up to a stone wall he found deep in the ruins of Vroengard. The wandering magician, Tenga, had given him a few clues as to how he could find the Vault of Souls. Eragon followed the clues and eventually found himself searching the ruins at Vroengard. _

After the dark battle at Dras-Leona, Galbatorix had shown himself. He flew to Teirm and commenced an all out assault on the entire elvish army, and he had nearly won. But Eragon had arrived with Murtagh at his side to fend off the King's slaughter, but it cost them greatly. It was plain to everyone that they would not be able to vanquish the king, not without more help. That is when Tenga had arrived with a few hints for Eragon and Saphira to follow. He was never seen again.

_Above the wall there were a few incomprehensible scratches etched into the stone. Eragon reached up and brushed away the dirt and dust to find dwarvish writing that read, "The Rock of Kuithan." Eragon then spoke his true name, "The Flame Which Burns Eternally For Peace" (Brom's seven words). There was a deep, heavy rumble as unseen hinges and joints began to turn. The smooth, thick wall in front of Eragon pushed forward, revealing a complex set of bars, locks, and designs. Large, circular poles protruded slightly from the four corners of the wall and began to rotate in place. As they turned, the bars and locks covering the doorway began to contract and disappear, revealing a beautiful set of large, wooden doors. Eragon took a deep breath to steady his racing heart before he slowly moved forward and leaned into the doors. _

_They appeared to be solid and heavy, but they opened easily and smoothly. There was an intense throbbing emanating from within the room. It beat so loudly Eragon could feel the pulse push against his eardrums and threaten to tear them open if he stepped any closer, but he continued on. For a moment, everything went completely black. An edge of fear began to grip Eragon's racing heart, but he continued on. _

_Slowly, a dim light began to illuminate Eragon's vision. The source was vague and distant, but Eragon pursued this one source of hope he had in the darkness. The deep thrum of energy continued to pulse loudly. After what seemed like hours, Eragon entered a large room hewn out of rock and stone. It was a bare chamber. The walls were grey and dull. No intricate designs or identifying marks were anywhere to be seen. Eragon began to wonder if someone else had taken whatever was supposed to be in this room. _

_But suddenly, Eragon noticed seven waist-high pillars standing in a semi-circle around the room. The pillars were just as bland and simple as the rest of the room, mere stands that had been hewn from rock and set in place ages ago. On top of each of the pillars was a black cloth. The cloths each hung about halfway down the pillars and seemed to cover a spherical object resting on the stands. _

_Something else came to Eragon's attention. There were whispers, small hints of unknown words echoing around the room. He turned his eyes right and left trying to find the source of the noise, but none was to be found. The whispers were getting louder and deeper with each step he took into the room. And there was a presence; definitely not human, but somehow intelligent and immensely powerful. Finally, he worked up the courage to remove one of the cloths from the stands. The pulsing in the air quickened and gained more intensity. Slowly, he stepped up to the center stand and reached his hand forward. _

_Sweat trickled down his forehead and collected on his brow. His right hand instinctively grasped the familiar handle of his sword while his left carefully came into contact with the soft, black cloth. A wave of doubt suddenly came over him. Seconds ticked by while he debated with himself. For a moment he almost turned around and left the room. But a sudden wave of courage surged through his body. Without thinking, his hand grasped the cloth and threw it aside. _

_Blinding white light flooded the room. Eragon stumbled back from a shockwave of energy and light. Deep, powerful pulses continued to fill the room. Slowly, a deep, animalistic voice spoke in Eragon's mind. _

The voice that spoke in Eragon's mind that day was the voice of Bid'Daum, the dragon of the first Rider, Eragon. Thousands of years ago, when Eragon the first was coming to an end of his time, Bid'Daum finally revealed the secret of the Eldunari. Together, the pair traveled the land on a last mission; to make a safeguard should anyone such as Galbatorix ever come to power.

They found six wild dragons; dragons that were ancient even before the time of the Riders. Together they convinced the six ancient dragons to give them their Eldunari and allow them to put their heart of hearts away should anyone ever need their strength to overcome evil. Once they had possession of the six ancient Eldunari, they traveled to the dwarves and asked a master smith, Kuithan, to build them a vault within the island of Vroengard. Once the vault was completed they had the Vroengard castle constructed over the site to help hide and protect it.

But Eragon needed a safe and sure way to guard the vault; else someone could use his safeguard to become the very evil he was trying to protect against. He decided to make his own true name the password to open the vault, thus ensuring that only a person with pure intentions could gain access to its contents. Next, he needed a line of descendants to protect the vault and ensure that only the right person could find it. He decided to employ the werecats to do so. For ages they guarded the secrets of the vault of souls. It was Solebum, one of the last in the line of guardians, who helped to reveal the secret to Eragon Shadeslayer, thus allowing him to find the Vault of Souls.

Eragon snapped out of his straying thoughts. He looked down at his hands, the hands that had killed the king. Once they were simple hands that tilled the land and guided a hunter's bow. Now they were the hands of the most powerful being in Alagaesia. Once he had opened up the Vault and discovered the Seven, Bid'Daum had several ancient and powerful spells to help Eragon in his quest to defeat the king. The spells had altered Eragon even more than the dragons at the Agaeti Blodhren ceremony, and the alterations were permanent. Eragon now stood at nearly six and a half feet tall. His frame was slightly thicker than it had been, but he still looked trim and fit. The muscles on his torso, back, and legs were all perfectly defined and gracefully proportioned.

The changes had not only given Eragon advantages in strength, speed, and endurance, but they had also elevated his ability to use magic. He now possessed more spell casting strength than even the most learned and powerful elven spell weavers, and that did not include the power Saphira could lend him. The Seven transformed Eragon into a powerful god of war, then they added their own power to his.

Eragon used his new abilities combined with the strength of the Seven to battle the King on that Terrible Day. In the end, the King was still more powerful than Eragon, but the Seven bonded their united minds to Eragon's and acted as a shield against the king's mental assault. In essence, they forced the king to fight Eragon in a traditional, one on one contest of swordsmanship. Saphira managed to chase Shruikan out of the castle and battle him in the air. Just when she was nearly overwhelmed, Eragon managed to pierce the king's black heart, sending Shruikan plummeting to the earth in pain.

Shruikan somehow survived that day and was allowed to go free. For several years he was seen by no man, elf, urgal, or dwarf. Nearly fifty years after the king was killed, Shruikan reappeared. The magic of the king had finally faded, revealing Shruikan in a new light. His scales, once black as night, were now a pure shade of shining silver. Saphira had taken Shruikan to be her mate and the two had produced four offspring, two of which had hatched already and were now in training under Eragon with their new riders along with the green dragon, Jaden, who had been found shortly after the death of the king. Jaden's rider was a female elf named Nala.

Eragon's mind strayed back to his moment of triumph.

_He and the king whirled about the castle in a blur of lunges, strikes, and parries. From time to time, the king would use magic against Eragon, but the Seven defended his mind and allowed Eragon to remain focused enough to counter any spell the king could imagine. _

_Brisingr clashed with the king's midnight blade, causing sparks to momentarily flicker from the metal then fall into nothingness. The king was devastatingly fast. Even with Eragon's new changes, the king was taller and stronger, but their skills with the sword were equal. The king would manipulate objects around them and hurl them at Eragon, but the Blue Rider had been well trained and managed to deflect or destroy any threat. In the end, Eragon used his unnaturally powerful bond with fire to overwhelm the king. With one word, flames encircled the duo and began to enclose around them. Galbatorix could not extinguish the flames and began to appear nervous as the flames enclosed around them. _

_Eragon pressed his attack and controlled the burning inferno around them. The king began to falter. Suddenly, Eragon sent writhing tendrils of blue flame rocketing towards the king. One of the tendrils scorched the king's sword hand, causing him to drop his sword out of natural reflex. _

_The king looked down at his blackened hand, one side was scorched and bleeding, and the other contained a ruined gedwey ignasia, a reminder of his first dragon which had died long ago. Eragon saw a momentary flash of sorrow and grief flood the king's eyes. But there was no time for mercy. With the quickness and precision of a trained assassin, he rammed his perfect blade through the king's armored chest. Blue flames surrounded the king's form for several seconds before disappearing into nothingness. All that was left was his brightsteel blade; the magical fire had destroyed everything else. _

_Eragon remembered the feeling of ultimate peace and release overcoming him at that precise moment. He fell to his knees as tears began to flood his eyes. He cried for the blood he had been forced to shed over the past three years, he cried for all those who had died so he could fulfill his purpose, he cried for the ones he had loved and lost on his trek to Uru'baen. _

_But as he sat there in the magnificent hall of Uru'baen, a strange feeling began to pull at his mind. He felt as if the strength was being sucked right out of him. It started slowly, and then began to gain momentum. Pain overwhelmed his senses. He fell to the ground as the last bits of his life were being sucked out of him. Cold terror gripped Eragon as he realized that the king had created a spell to kill the one who took his life. _

_The Seven began to pour the last remnants of their strength into him, trying to keep him alive. One by one they sacrificed themselves to keep his heart beating. The six wild dragons and Bid'Daum passed into the void that day as they poured the last drops of life they had left into the Blue Rider. Once the last Eldunari faded into nothingness, Eragon still felt the pull on his strength. Slowly, he muttered a spell to flood his body with the energy stored in his ring, Aren. Brom's life force flooded into him like a cleansing flame, rejuvenating his senses and bringing life to his tired body. _

_After the spell had passed, Eragon arose and made his way back out to the city. The Varden had mostly overwhelmed the cities defenses before the Blue Rider had entered the castle. But once Eragon and Saphira flew into the castle's throne room, everyone had gathered around the courtyard to witness the outcome of the mighty duel. _

_Eragon slowly pushed the massive doors aside, revealing himself to thousands of witnesses. Clear, morning sunlight lit up his face and flooded the city with pure light. A loud shout of triumph erupted from the crowd. Eragon lifted his blade in one hand and threw Galbatorix's midnight blade down the stone stairs with his other. Saphira landed beside him and roared in fearsome triumph. The buildings and walls around the city shook with the force of her cry. _

Eragon's memories began to fade as he made his way up to his private quarters. He climbed up a circular staircase and opened a magically locked doorway with a simple spell. The room was large and open. Giant windows let in the dimming rays of the setting sun and provided a spectacular view of the surrounding area. The floor was covered with many plush, intricately woven rugs which allowed Eragon to move silently across the cold floor. He moved over to his bed and sat down with his head in his hands.

In the corner of his room rested a fully packed and prepared travel bag. He was scheduled to depart in the morning for Ellesmera. The Agaeti Blodhren was approaching quickly, and he had been invited by the elves to attend the first Blood Oath Ceremony since the Downfall of The King. Of course he could not refuse, but there was a small problem, one single little detail that had stained and nearly ruined the rest of his life.

His blue-brown eyes shifted to the elegantly designed nightstand that rested near the head of his comfortable bed. There, resting on the stand's smooth surface was his favorite possession. It was another fairth, much like the ones that now decorated his lower chamber. Like the others, it had been created by Eragon nearly one hundred years ago, a few days after Galbatorix's death.

Looking back at him from inside the intricate frame was the most beautiful face he had ever laid eyes on. Raven locks of long straight hair hung loosely about a porcelain face. Skin as smooth as marble and flawless as diamond shone in a faint golden hue. Eyes as deep as the ocean, yet the color of a dark forest; shinning emeralds far more precious than any master smith could ever hope to find. There was no smile on her face, but she seemed to be happy. Yet there was an undercurrent of pain and longing in her eyes that could not hide behind the mask of indifference she had worn for so long.

It was Arya Drottningu. The one Eragon had adored since the moment he met her. They became good friends on their trek to Uru'baen. Through hardship and sorrow they toiled together trying to reach a common goal. They passed through fire and ruin to finally stand before the king and bring the Malice down to his knees. And they had finished their task.

But their sacrifice had been dear. Eragon lost many friends and most of his family because of the king. Arya had lost her father in the first war, her best friend was killed by Durza's doing, and her mother died in the last battle, killed by the same Shade that slew Thorn during the Battle of Uru'baen. The scars left by the Black King ran deep in both of them. Neither would ever fully recover from what they had seen and done.

Eragon was not even completely sure what had happened between them, but it had not ended well. The first few months and years after the War had been extremely trying for Eragon. He had to deal with the rebuilding of three civilizations while trying to resolve his own personal issues and setting up a new order for the reborn Dragon Riders. He had seen Arya on several occasions, but only when their duties had crossed paths. He had tentatively tried to reach out to her, but Arya's walls were up. She was as cold and heartless as Eragon had ever seen her.

The rider's mind flashed back to the night he had replayed in his mind a thousand times since its occurrence. The night when he had come so close. The night he had last spoken to Arya.

_He was in Illeria, the new capitol of the Broddring Kingdom, attempting to gain support for the rebuilding of Vroengard. The day had been a long one. He needed to get away for a few hours, clear his mind, and refresh his soul. He quietly slipped out of the massive city and headed for a small glade he knew of that rested near a lake in the nearby countryside. He walked briskly across the moonlit landscape, taking in the beautiful sights and sounds of a still night. _

_He entered the glade and began to walk aimlessly through the trees, brushing his hands lightly against the rough bark of the tall oaks and willows of the low country. He extended his mind out to take in the full scope of the area. To his surprise he ran into a powerful presence. His training quickly forced him to withdraw and erect defenses around his own thoughts. The mind he had brushed against was ancient, foreign, and melancholy. Eragon was not certain, but he was fairly sure whoever it was did not detect his intrusion. _

_For a moment he almost turned back to leave the troubled soul alone, but a light call caught his attention. It sounded like singing. The breeze stirred slightly, erasing the tune from Eragon's senses. Curious, he headed in the general direction of the sound. There it was again. A sweet melody wafting on the wind, stirring through the trees, and calling him closer. _

_As he drew nearer, he began to make out the words. They were in the language of the elves and the tune was so beautiful and clear it could not have been a mortal creating it. Eragon made his way up to a tall weeping willow that stood near the edge of a crystal clear lake. He stood in the shadow of the swaying branches, not wanting to betray his presence to the unknown being. _

_His eyes searched the far shore line intensely. There. A dark form was sitting on the far water line, feet dipped in the cool liquid and face looking up into the night sky. Eragon had no question as to who the figure was. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of fresh grass, leaves, wet earth, and fresh water entered his nose, but that was not what he was searching for. He inhaled once more, deeper this time. There it was. Pine, crushed and scented lightly on alabaster skin. He re-opened his eyes and began to focus on the ancient, powerful words that were traveling lightly across the water. _

'_I am alone and broken, _

_All those I once loved have long gone,_

_My greatest fears have woken,_

_Yet I am forced to continue on. _

_Young and old pass into death,_

_Leaving us here to draw their breath, _

_Ruin and Fire have ended all things,_

_Leaving me here for sorrow to sting, _

_Where is the one who can mend my soul?_

_Who can heal my heart and make it whole?'_

_A tear came to Eragon's eye as he witnessed his beloved in such a state. He slowly withdrew into the trees and began to make his way quietly around the lake. The singing continued to grow louder and more intense as Eragon got closer to its source. Every once in a while, Eragon could hear a tremor of emotion ripple through the melodious words as Arya's voice would nearly break from her tremendous sorrow. _

_He walked up to the trees behind Arya and stood still for several minutes. The beautiful elf sat there swirling her bare feet around in the cool water. Her singing had ceased, yet she did not leave. She sat there, watching the ripples her feet created roll across the entire surface of the water. _

"_It is not polite to spy on people, Eragon."_

_The words did not catch the Blue Rider off guard. He had guessed that she knew of his presence. "I did not mean to, Arya Svit-kona" he said apologetically. _

_Arya let out a small sigh, "It is forgiven. This place is commonly visited by those who seek rest and peace." _

_Eragon moved over to her slowly and sat down beside her. They both sat still and silent for many minutes simply taking in the sights and sounds of the bright night. Eragon was highly aware of Arya's presence. The faint scent of pine her body gave off, small portions of perfect skin exposed around her neck and ankles, the sound of her clothes rustling against her flesh when she stirred even slightly, the way the easy breeze pushed her hair off her face. _

_He absentmindedly pulled at some grass and tossed it to the wind and watched it float away on the breeze. _

"_Eragon?"_

_The sound of her clear voice speaking his name made him shudder with emotion. He did not speak to answer, simply turned his eyes on her and waited for her to continue. _

_Her eyes danced around in place, scrutinizing some unknown object across the lake. "What did I do to earn your affection?"_

_The bluntness of the question caught Eragon off guard, leaving him speechless. For many long moments he sat there thinking of his answer. No words were forming in his mind so he attempted to deflect the question. _

"_What is the reason for your question, Arya? Have I offended you?"_

_Her perfect face remained completely even, "No, not at all. I ask for my own reasons."_

_Eragon knew he was on thin ice. This could be his one chance to reach her. Never before had she been the one to bring up his feelings. _

_Carefully, he began to openly share his heart with the one he loved. "When I first felt your presence in Gil'ead, I knew that you were, different. I was young and ignorant, but even then something deep inside told me there was something unique about you." He looked down at his hands and fumbled with the end of his tunic, trying to phrase his words eloquently. Arya simply sat there, staring at him, daring him to continue. _

"_While you were in such a helpless state, I could sense the very essence of your being. At the time I did not know what I was doing, but when I learned what I had done and felt, I was amazed."_

_Arya gave him a quizzical look. Eragon searched her eyes for any hint of understanding. None was forthcoming. Frustration began to build inside him. With a hint of hesitation and fear in his voice, he continued._

"_Arya, I have never gotten over that glimpse." There was a long pause as Eragon let his words sink in. "Within that small time I witnessed your strength, power, love, sorrow, devotion, passion, and beauty. One small drop of your true self has been enough to hold my attention for nearly ten years now." Eragon dropped his eyes once more, not able to bear the boring gaze of the elf beside him. _

_Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity. Eragon dared to look back at Arya. She was now looking away; raven locks obscuring her face. The Blue Rider waited patiently for her to speak again. _

_Finally, she turned to him. When she spoke her voice was choked with emotion, "Is that it then? You love me because of that one small fraction you saw?"_

_Eragon withdrew slightly, not sure what he should say. "No Arya, that is not all, but if that was the only glimpse of you I ever had, it would be enough to send me searching for a thousand years to find you."_

_Arya's mouth dropped slightly as a small sigh of surprise left her lips. "Eragon…" her words trailed off as she stood and walked a few paces away. Eragon stood, but did not pursue her. _

"_I am sorry" he said quietly. _

_Arya made no noise or motion to signal that she heard him. Slowly she turned back around, head down and eyes closed. Her eyelids opened slowly and her eyes found those of the rider in front of her. Eragon winced as he saw a shining tear spill from one of her slanted eyes. _

"_Eragon, I am no longer that person. The glimpse you saw is gone. That person died long ago."_

"_No" he said, almost too forcefully. His emotions began to rise to the surface and he stepped closer to the slender elf. "That Arya is still in there. I have seen it, I have felt it. I will never give up my search for her beauty." _

_The tension was beginning to build. Arya was visibly upset now. Her breaths came in short, loud gulps. Now it was she who could not bear the gaze of the one next to her. _

_Eragon could feel his longing and love for Arya beginning to take control. With a quiet, sad voice he asked, "Do you feel nothing for me? Am I doomed to love a ghost for the rest of eternity?"_

_That registered somewhere in Arya's searching thoughts. A look of compassion and longing swept across her face. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and stood so close to Eragon he could feel her breath on his face. She looked up into his eyes and a ghost of a smile appeared on her curved lips. _

"_Aye, I do feel…" she stopped again, tears now flowing freely down her face. _

_Eragon reached up and wiped those liquid diamonds from her smooth face. His hand came to rest on her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his hand, almost as if she longed for his touch. Her eyes re-opened and her mouth began to form quiet words. _

"_Eragon… I do not know how to love anymore." The sadness in her voice was heart breaking. Eragon wanted to pull her close to him, and embrace her tightly. But he resisted, allowing Arya to open up to him. _

"_Arya" Eragon whispered softly. At the sound of him uttering her name, the elf once again stared up into his piercing eyes. Eragon held her gaze and kept his hand on her cheek, brushing her skin softly with the tips of his fingers. They were inches apart, separated only by a mere fingers breadth. _

_Eragon spoke softly in the ancient language, "Arya, I love you, and I believe that a part of you loves me. I know not what you will decide, but please listen to my words."_

_Arya's gaze softened and she nodded slightly for Eragon to continue._

_His voice was little more than a breath now, "You have suffered. That I understand. Your losses have been numerous and tragic, but if you continue to push those who care about you away, you will never recover." He paused momentarily, "If you remain defeated as you are, then those who wronged you have won. Even though the ones that have hurt you have long been dead, their influence remains so long as you choose to let their actions dictate your life."_

_A light of understanding crossed Arya's features. She reached her hands up and placed them on Eragon's chest while he continued. "For your sake, for my sake, please; put the last remnants of evil that resides within you to death. Defeat your darkness and accept what you have left."_

_She looked down and seemed to be debating within herself. Eragon allowed her to remain in her thoughts for a long time. The breeze stirred around them, brushing their hair about their perfect faces and rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. All was quiet. The only sound Eragon heard was the beating of his own heart as it pounded like a war drum within his chest. _

_Slowly, he reached one hand beneath Arya's chin and tilted her head up while drawing her closer to him with his other. Her hands slid up his muscled chest. One coming to rest on his rounded shoulder, the other traced the design of his neck and face. Her breath was hot on his face, and her scent rushed into his lungs with every breath he drew. Their eyes met. _

_Eragon slid his hand to her waist and drew her soft form against his body. Slowly, he lowered his head down to her level while she leaned up into his thick frame. Their lips met. The sensation sent chills throughout Eragon's body. They parted. Eragon's heart was hammering and his hands were shaking. Likewise he could sense a tremble running through Arya's body. _

_He stood back and waited. Arya was just standing there in complete shock. Everything was still. Arya's mouth moved, but was forming no words. Finally she managed to push trembling breaths out of her lungs and broken words began to form._

"_Eragon, I do love you, but I simply cannot do this to you. It would be a mockery of true love. I can offer you nothing but my brokenness and imperfection."_

_Eragon staggered slightly. His breath simply would not come. A sharp pain shot through his heart and sank into his stomach. "Arya, I love you as you are. Why do you deny us what we both desire?" Tears began to spill freely down his cheeks. "Is it not enough that we love each other?"_

"_No, I will not give into this." Arya was beginning to close off. Eragon could feel her walls coming back up. He had failed. _

"_I will never stop loving you" he said, almost defiantly. _

"_Eragon, I cannot give you what you seek. It cannot be."_

_The two stood in total silence. Eragon was finding it hard to remain standing. The very blood of his veins seemed to be chilled and frozen. "Will you never return my love? Am I doomed to live alone forever?" _

_Tears streamed down her porcelain face. Eragon knew his heart was not the only one that was breaking. "You will never be alone Eragon." With that, she turned and strode softly away into the gloom. _

_Eragon fell to his knees and began to weep uncontrollably. "For you" he whispered softly in the elven tongue, "I would wait forever." _

Eragon sat up in his bed. Cold tears were running down his face like drops of liquid crystals cascading from a waterfall. He stood and began to prepare his possessions for the journey ahead.

"This will all be settled" he spoke quietly to himself. One way or the other, he would have to confront Arya one last time. Either he would win her heart and fulfill his every desire, or he would finally begin the process of letting her go. The later thought sent shivers of fear and loneliness running through his body. "This must end" he spoke softly into the night.

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Thankyou for reading! Please review! You will have a large say as to whether or not i continue with this fanfic.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, well after going over the reviews i have decided to continue on with this story. I am very excited about writing it, but i will admit that i am not 100% certain as to where this is going. I havegeneral idea as far as resolving the Eraogn/Arya issue, but the story in its entirety is still a mystery to me. Anyway, I will try to think of something to blow your minds!!! lol

This chapter is more of a filler than anyting, but it is important. Please enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Going Home**

Eragon awoke slowly. The dreams of slumber faded gradually till his eyes finally opened and began transmitting vibrant, clear images to his drowsy mind. He pushed back the thin sheets that covered him and stood to his feet easily. The thick flaps that covered the large windows by night opened slowly, driven by a spell Eragon had created to make his mornings a little more pleasant. A sudden, warm sea breeze softly entered the room and lightly kissed Eragon's bronzed skin. He stood tall and stretched his rejuvenated limbs.

_Good morning partner of my heart. _Eragon smiled as that all familiar voice spoke cheerily in his mind.

_Good morning Saphira, _said Eragon. He could not help but grin as he began to prepare himself for the long day ahead. Saphira was extremely excited about attending the Blood Oath Ceremony and her excitement was leaking in large amounts across his bond with her.

_If you do not hurry, we will have a late start. We may not make it to your first nest-house on the ground in the Palancar Valley by night fall._

A small twinge of pain shot through Eragon's memories as he thought of his birth place. They were going to fly right over the area so Saphira had suggested that they visit the old place. Eragon was not over enthused about the situation, but it would be nice to see how the place was getting along.

_We will get there in plenty of time, unless of course you feel the distance is too great for you? _He said it with a hint of sarcasm and laughter in his thoughts.

Saphira's mind rumbled with a challenging growl. No words were spoken, but Eragon knew he had made a mistake. Now instead of a pleasant, easy flight over the terrain, Saphira would be flying at a break-neck pace just to prove a point. Eragon did not mind though. He liked pushing himself and Saphira. Growing soft was not something that appealed to either one of them.

_I could make it to Du Weldenvarden by nightfall if necessary, two-legged earth-crawler, _she teased back quickly. Eragon laughed to himself. The humor of a dragon was a new adventure every day.

_I would wager that you could make it to the very borders of Ellesmera by nightfall; if someone was standing there with a barrel of that elvish ale you love so much. _He felt a deep roll of laughter slide through Saphira's mind.

_Aye, that I could. _She paused for a moment before changing the subject. _I will be down in the courtyard ready to depart in ten minutes. _

Eragon mentally acknowledged her before finishing up his last minute preparations. He walked over to the corner and opened up a sturdy, leather bag which held all the things he would need for the journey. Several changes of finely made elven clothing filled part of the bag, including his best formal wear for the actual celebration. A few small leather cases that contained many days worth of rations, a dagger, some herbs that could be used for healing if necessary, a small pouch that contained a liquid mixture Eragon had created that could provide him with several days worth of energy in an emergency, and a few other miscellaneous things he would need for the trip.

Once he was sure he had everything, he went over to his bed where he had laid out his clothing for the day. He hurriedly threw on his comfortable traveling pants along with his riding boots. A light, finely woven tunic covered his torso. He threw a thin, light leather jerkin over this to help fend off the cool wind of the high altitudes he would be traveling at. Next, he buckled on the Belt of Beloth the Wise and his magnificent sword, Brisingr.

Lastly, he slid his ring, Aren, onto his right forefinger. The elegantly made piece of jewelry was a priceless artifact. Not only was it extremely useful, but it also carried a great amount of sentimental value for the Blue Rider. It was the only material thing his father, Brom, had left him. He allowed his eyes to rest on the dazzling sapphire that was set into the winding pattern of the silver band.

Deep within the recesses of the blue gem, swirling like a slow moving whirlpool was an amount of energy so vast it could give Eragon enough strength to move a mountain. Almost every night before he went to sleep, he would transfer Saphira's extra energy into the sapphire just in case they would ever need it again. Thus he had done for the past one hundred years, and there was still room left to spare.

Eragon traced the fine designs with his fingers. He suddenly remembered the object resting inside the nightstand beside his bed. Slowly, he paced across the room, opened the drawer, and reached inside. His hand found the soft, cloth pouch he was looking for. Reluctantly, he withdrew the pouch from its resting place and reached a finger into its opening. A cool, hard object tumbled out of the bag and into Eragon's hand. It was another ring, but no ordinary ring. During his many travels to Farthen Dur during the past one hundred years, he had asked a master dwarf smith from King Orik's clan to make it for him. The smith had taken ten years to make the ring and had absolutely outdone himself.

The emerald in its center had been carefully crafted and magically enchanted much like the sapphire in Eragon's ring so it could hold vast amounts of energy despite its small size. The band was made of a metal that the dwarves would not speak of for it was one of their greatest mining secrets. From what Eragon knew, the metal was extremely resilient and nearly indestructible. It could also be enchanted with certain spells and maintain its own energy to support them. Thus one could enchant the metal in the band to, for example, become instantly hot if someone other than the owner put it on and the power to fuel the spell could be generated from within the metal itself.

Eragon had enchanted this ring so that he could know where the wearer was, and what his or her condition was. He had also placed a rather rare and powerful spell on Aren and this ring that Bid'Daum had taught him long ago. The spell would allow the wearers of the rings to transfer energy to the other from any distance, which could be very useful if one person ran out of strength and the other was too far away to offer any immediate help. The precious metal had been covered with the purest of gold and an emerald had been elegantly set into a slightly raised portion of the band. The emerald itself was in a slightly oval shape with a pointed end at the top, giving the gem a teardrop appearance. The very center of the gem swirled, betraying the presence of vast amounts of energy. Energy Eragon had been pouring into it ever since he received it nearly eighty years ago.

_A masterpiece worthy of a princess, _Eragon thought to himself. And indeed, it had been crafted for a princess. Eragon had wanted to give this ring to Arya as a gift, but circumstances had not allowed him to do so. He stood there, studying the magnificent beauty and power he held within the palm of his hand, debating within himself over whether or not he should even take it with him to Ellesmera.

He closed his eyes for several moments and clutched the ring tightly in his hand. A deep, sorrowful sigh escaped his lungs. He slowly slid the pouch into his belt, hoping against hopes that she would accept it. With one last look around his room, he grabbed his things and made his way down to the courtyard.

Saphira was there, waiting impatiently for him. _It is good to finally see you this glorious morning, _teased the sapphire dragoness.

Eragon looked up to study his dearest friend. Golden rays of liquid-like sunshine beat down upon her and were reflected in bluish tints around the courtyard. She had grown much over the past hundred years. Her head was nearly the size of a war-horse. Massive, muscular jaws opened slightly, revealing rows of razor sharp, pearlescent teeth. The main trunk of her body was lean and muscular, a testament to her fitness and strength, even in the midst of peacetime. From nose to tail, she was roughly one hundred feet long. Eragon moved to her shoulders to ensure that her saddle had been strapped on properly and comfortably.

Saphira craned her neck and studied him with a single, sapphire eye. _Did you bring your precious ring-gift with you? _

Eragon shook his head in affirmation. Saphira pondered to herself for several seconds. _I am glad that you are going to confront her Eragon, it shows a great level of growth on your behalf, but… _her mental comment ended abruptly. Eragon turned to study her eyes.

_But what, _he asked forcefully.

Saphira turned her massive head away and remained in silent refrain for a while before answering. _You have made your heart known to Arya. She knows how deeply you feel about her. Maybe you should let her take the next step. _

Eragon rolled her suggestion over in his mind. What she said was true. He had already taken the first step. There would be no need to push further. Now it was her turn.

Eragon let out a deep sigh. _Aye, you are probably right. I was planning on confronting her, but given your advice, I think it might be wise to wait. We will be there for a while, a lot could happen. _

With that, Eragon mounted Saphira and bid farewell to all of his subjects that had come to see him off. Just before Saphira launched into the sky she asked, _did you bring our gift for the ceremony? _

Eragon turned around and checked a heavily wrapped object that was securely tied in next to his saddle bags. _Aye, it is here and secure. _

_Good. I am excited to see everyone's reaction to it. I think it is one of the most unique gifts ever created. _

Eragon shrugged, _we shall see. _

With that, Eragon embraced Saphira's saddle tightly. He felt her legs bend and her muscles tighten. A loud, joyful roar echoed off the walls and designs of the castle structure. Like an arrow loosed from an elven bow, Saphira exploded off the ground and beat her wings through the air. Wind rushed past Eragon's ears and blew in his face. The feeling of weightlessness came over him for a time, and then they leveled off among the clouds. Together the pair sped off through the sky, traveling towards the mainland, and an unknown fate.

Later that evening, Saphira entered a quaint little village nestled between the high mountains of the Spine. She circled once to give her rider a view of the town and how it had been progressing. Finally, she turned aside and made her way to a familiar place. There, a few miles outside of town, rested a sleepy little farmhouse. The evening was beginning to fall so the occupants of the farm were busily scurrying about their house preparing for the night, unaware that the most powerful being in Alagaesia was outside their window. Saphira landed stealthily about two hundred yards away from the house. Eragon slid down her flank and landed lightly at her side. He made his way over to a large tree and stood beneath its branches, studying the area with longing eyes. Much had changed, but so much was still the same. He closed his eyes and brought back the memories of his once home.

There it was, clearly visible through his mind's eye. The shabby little farmhouse sitting lazily in an open field, a large barn standing beside it, and several small gardens that helped to support their livelihood. He could see Garrow on the front porch waiting for his sons to come home after a long days work. Here came a very young Roran, carrying a heavy sack of potatoes he had dug up from the south garden. And there he came, carrying a young doe over his shoulder. He marveled at his young self. He was so innocent, so young, and so happy. Nothing more than a simple boy ready to lead a simple life in this pleasant little village. My how that boy had changed. Eragon looked down at himself, shocked at the changes the circumstances of his life had forced upon him.

He shook himself from his memories. The deep sound of a dragon claw landing on the soft earth caught his attention. He turned to behold his blue dragon.

_Do you recognize this tree, _she asked thoughtfully?

Eragon turned to study the mighty oak he stood beneath. _Aye, is this not the tree I first put you in?_

A deep thrum of laughter rolled through her chest. _Yes it is. _

Eragon saw the humor she was seeing. She was now taller than the tree itself. To think that she had once lived in this tree was almost comical. Eragon turned about, taking in the view of the area. It was mostly the same view he remembered. The trees had grown, and it looked like someone had cleared a large portion of forest to create a new field for gardening. But the mountains were the same, giant peaks stabbing at the sky, but never able to reach their glorious heights.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scents of the farm country. After several minutes of quiet refrain, he turned back to his dragon.

_Come; let us not disturb these simple folk. _

Saphira huffed slightly; _do you not wish to stay longer?_

Eragon studied the landscape once more. _No, this is my past. I miss it, but it is no longer mine. My future is still undecided. I have a feeling that much still lies ahead. _

Saphira growled in agreement. _Very well, Eragon, we can make it across the valley by nightfall. If you like, we can find a place in the mountains to rest for the night.. _

Eragon smiled in approval, _I would like that very much Saphira. _At that, he climbed up her leg and onto her saddle. Together they took off into the fading sky.

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Im not sure how long it will be until the next chapter is finished, but i will be working hard on it! review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Ellesmera**

It was twilight when Eragon and Saphira finally entered Ellesmera two days later. A large, full moon rested on the horizon, barely keeping its sleepy head over the green canopy of forest. From above, Eragon could see a vast amount of terrain. The trees covered most of the land, but several winding rivers interrupted the green carpet. Far off on the horizon, dark mountains were barely visible in the night's pale illumination. Words could not describe the clear beauty and peace all around. It was breathtaking.

Eragon closed his eyes and concentrated on his other senses. Cool wind steadily blew in his face and softly kissed his skin. The powerful creature beneath him cruised easily through the night. The smell of the woodland filled his lungs as he breathed deeply. But there was something else, something much more powerful than common senses can translate, almost a deep thrum pulsing through the air. Few can really sense what Eragon felt at that moment. Magic. Simply put and easily stated, the entire area was alive with power. An unknown force was rushing through the land, protecting and nourishing all its inhabitants.

Eragon allowed his mind to rest and his breathing to slow. This was a resting place, a safe haven from the world. _Ellesmera, _he quietly thought to himself.

Saphira purred deeply in her chest in response as she began her decent. She landed softly and stealthily, not wanting to interrupt the quietness of the perfect night. The elves had set aside a large area near a cliff for the dragon and rider. Built into the cliff, several feet off the ground, was a large tunnel-like structure that had been designed for Saphira to stay in during their several trips to the Elven capitol.

Next to the cliff was a large oak in which rested a magically created dwelling place for the Blue Rider. Eragon slid silently down Saphira's flank and landed easily beside her. Together they walked up to their temporary home. As they approached the oak, a slender figure stood from amongst the shadows and began walking quickly over to them.

The elf approached the pair and began the traditional elven greeting. Eragon returned the gesture and waited for the elf to introduce himself. He was young, even by human standards. Eragon guessed him to be maybe twenty-five.

The elf stood tall and looked the Blue Rider in the eyes. "Greetings Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Bjartskular, I am Decian. I will be taking care of your needs for the duration of your stay."

Eragon inclined his head in thanks before the elf continued, "King Dethmilean requests an audience with you as soon as you are prepared in the morning. If you require anything please call for me and I will do my best to ensure your needs are met."

"Thank you, Decian. You may return to your home. I will not be needing anything tonight, and please, enjoy this wondrous occasion. I would not want you to miss this experience simply to wait on me." Eragon smiled at the young elf and bowed his head slightly.

Decian smiled slightly before bowing and running off into the night. Eragon and Saphira stayed up for a while, talking and enjoying the pleasantness of the perfect night. Finally they made their way to their separate resting places.

Eragon walked quietly up the winding stairs that led high into the tree. When he reached the top, he found the main chamber to be spacious and well outfitted. A basket with various fruits and breads rested on a table. A large, soft bed was in the corner. He removed his clothing and washed the remnants of travel off his body. Slowly, he made his way over to a large opening overlooking the field and forest beyond.

Eragon was surprised by just how high up his house was, but such was to be expected with the elves. They always made sure he had the finest of everything. The Blue Rider sighed. Over the past several years he had grown accustomed to being waited on and looked after, but what he really wanted was to be treated as an equal, a companion, a friend. Since he had defeated the king, no one person had really ever gotten close to him, other than Saphira of course. But other than her, Eragon was alone. Too unique to belong to any one group, and too revered and feared to attract a friend.

He slowly scrutinized the tree line several hundred yards away. It was beautiful. Tall grass swayed slightly, bearing witness of the invisible breeze. The trees stood still and tall, leaves rustling slightly on occasion. He closed his eyes one more time to inhale the wonderful scents of the woodland. He slowly listed everything he could sense with his acute nose.

_Fresh oak, wet soil, green grass, light rain… pine? _Eragon snapped out of his trans, _there are no pines in this area of the wood. _

Slowly his mind remembered that faint scent. It had been over eighty years since he had last smelt it. He quickly searched the field and tree line for any signs. None were visible. He sighed heavily and moved over to his bed.

_My mind is playing with me, _he thought to himself. Without another thought, he lay down and fell into the waiting embrace of his waking dreams.

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A slender figure strode stealthily beneath the thick canopy of Ellesmera. The moon was bright tonight, illuminating small patches of ground where the tree limbs failed to obscure its pale beams. The figure quickly created a swift, winding path from shadow to shadow, not wanting to be seen or heard by any of those who were resting within their homes.

The elf stooped to study a tender young flower sprouting out of the ground. Her face came close to the blue pedals as she scrutinized its soft surface. Slowly, she extended her consciousness out to envelope the flower's own. Most of its thought was as it usually would be. Thinking only of its roots, the soil, water, and many other things, but something was different than normal. Something was coming, and the young plant could sense it. A powerful presence was approaching, something pure and strong. The air was alive with a tiny flicker of life.

Arya slowly withdrew her mind back within herself. _He is here_. She quickly made her way to where he would be staying, passing like a phantom among the tall trees. She did not want to talk to him, not yet. Nor did she wish to avoid him. She merely wanted to see him, study how he had changed, and see what had become of him over the past eighty years.

Silently, she came to the clearing where his dwelling place was. She found a patch of earth that was shaded heavily from the moon's revealing rays and stood within the darkness. There she waited patiently for nearly an hour.

The air was moving. A faint pulse could be felt surging through the air, growing stronger with each passing moment. Finally, she heard a familiar sound. _Thump_. Arya could not help but let a faint smile touch her lips. That sound was one of the most welcome sounds in all of Alagaesia. But with it would come a large source of pain and regret for the beautiful elf.

The wing beats grew louder and louder. Arya glanced upward as the trees above her bent and swayed beneath the powerful force created by Saphira's wing beats. A large, vague figure appeared out of the sky and began to descend upon the land. There they were. The most powerful duo the world had ever seen.

Saphira was huge. Arya had last seen her about fifty years ago, but now she was a full twenty feet longer and much stronger looking. Her sapphire scales had lost none of their brilliance. She was the most beautiful creature in all of Alagaesia.

But Arya's attention was suddenly caught by the man who easily slid off of the dragon's mighty back. She silently uttered a spell that would allow her to view them closer. The spell immediately took affect and Eragon came into clear focus just as he would be ten feet away. She silently studied the man before her.

He was just as she remembered him, yet older. Not physically so, but his eyes had changed. They were deeper and more ancient. Arya could clearly see how much he had grown and learned over the past century. He was more than the lucky hero some used to think him to be. He was a tested and tried leader, and the fiercest warrior this land had ever seen.

A figure emerged from the giant tree and approached the dragon and rider. Eragon towered over the tall elf. Arya had forgotten just how much the Seven had changed Eragon. He was very tall and well built. No one could mistake him for an elf, yet no one could say that he was human either. He was an anomaly. Arya watched patiently as the elf exchanged pleasantries with the blue rider and quickly left the pair alone. Even from hundreds of yards away, Arya could see just how much the young elf admired and respected Eragon.

A smile barely reached her lips as she thought of the humble origins Eragon had come from. He had gone from simple farm boy to the most powerful and respected man in the known world. She watched longer as Eragon and Saphira talked together for a long time. To see them together and happy was very pleasing for Arya. After a long time Eragon made his way up to his chamber.

Arya stood quietly as a light slowly lit the highest reaches of the tree. Several moments passed as she waited to catch one last glimpse of the Blue Rider. She remembered how Eragon always used to look out his window before he went to sleep every night, and she hoped this habit had not changed over the past century.

Finally, her patience was rewarded as Eragon's figure appeared in the middle of a large opening on the side of the oak. His torso was bare while his legs were covered with some long leggings. Arya could not help but notice his chiseled features. Well defined muscles gracefully covered his strong frame. Perfect skin tightly stretched over his features and gave off a bronzed hue. None of the elves were built in such a way. She had almost forgotten just how pleasing his form was to her. Shame suddenly came over her and she averted her gaze. It took a long while before she could look at him again.

He stood tall, yet Arya could see his drooped shoulders and slightly bowed head. _Something is troubling him, _Arya thought. Part of her thought she should go talk with him, but she quickly decided against it. She could not be sure how he would react to her. Eighty years was a long time, even for immortals. Much can change.

She snapped out of her thoughts and again watched Eragon. Now his eyes were closed and he appeared to be breathing deeply. Suddenly his eyes shot open and he seemed to be scrutinizing the area around her hiding place. Arya ducked behind a tree quicker than the blink of an eye. Her breathing became heavy and she mentally rebuked herself for being so foolish. Eragon was not only the most powerful magician and best swordsman in the land; he was also highly gifted in his senses. The Seven had given him quite a gift. It would not be surprising if he had caught her scent and then spotted her, even amidst the darkness of night.

She finally dared to peek around the tree. Eragon was still there, but he was no longer searching. He appeared to be disappointed or sad about something, but Arya could not imagine what it really was. Slowly, he turned and disappeared from her view. The light went out and Arya was left out in the night, alone and confused.

Her feet made no noise as they padded softly into the forest. For many long moments she walked aimlessly through the trees, pondering her situation deeply. It had been good to see him again, but her heart and mind were in such a conflict she felt her body would rip apart with grief and loss. A war raged within her, and it showed no signs of relenting its furious course.

The beautiful elf finally came to rest in an open, isolated glade with a small, clear brook running through it. She lay down on her back and focused her eyes on the countless stars that decorated the black sky.

"What am I going to do?"Her quiet, clear voice broke the perfect silence of the dark night. No answer came from the gloom other than the soft sound of water trickling over rock. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and slid down her perfect face, finally coming to rest on the collar of her green tunic. Soft sobs began to periodically interrupt the still quietness of the grassy glade. She curled her knees up to her chest and placed her head on her knees and softly cried till she slipped unwillingly into the waiting embrace of her waking dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone, sorry about the delay. I really hope you enjoy this new chapter though cause i worked long and hard on it.

Warning!: This chapter contains some mature, dark themes that some may not enjoy.

Please review at the end!

**Chapter 4**

Eragon awoke early the next morning. The sun had not yet risen, and the forest was perfectly still. Night's darkness had not yet surrendered the sky, but faint hints of sunlight were beginning to seep into the eastern horizon. The breeze that entered the high chamber was cool and refreshing. Eragon slowly dressed himself and made his way down the wooden stairs of his dwelling, grabbing his blue blade as he exited the room. His awakening roused his slumbering companion.

_Good morning little one. _

_Good morning Saphira. _

_What are you doing up so early? I thought we agreed to use this time to rest?_

Eragon balked temporarily. _I am not going to overdo it. I just want to stretch and practice for a little while before I meet with the king. _

In truth, Eragon had grown so accustomed to his vigorous routine that he found it difficult to remain idle. The Rigmar, meditation, gramyre, and swordsmanship were as much a part of Eragon as the flesh of his body and the marrow of his bones. Saphira knew this so she allowed him this one indulgence.

_Try not to tire yourself. I am going for a hunt. _

Eragon felt Saphira stretching and loosening her wings. He looked up with anticipation at the high cliff behind his tree and into the black, gapping whole in which she had spent the night. A feeling of fierce joy surged across Saphira's link as she exploded from her cave and out into the cool, morning air. Eragon watched in awe as she swooped down a mere ten feet from the ground before turning her direction straight up into the sky. A rolling wave of wind blew past his face as her powerful wings beat down above his head. Then, like a speeding arrow, she took off into the sky and was soon out of sight.

Eragon breathed the fresh air deeply and contently took in his surroundings. A bubbling brook was slowly winding its way out of the woods to his east and past his dwelling before disappearing again into the western woods on the opposite end of the field. A deep layer of grey mist still hung low in the air. Heavy drops of silver dew stained the green earth and reflected the dim rays of sunlight peeking over the eastern horizon. Eragon moved away from the massive oak and out into a large, open space where the ground was nearly bare and perfectly even. He strode smoothly over and sat down cross-legged in the midst of the makeshift training ground and slowly closed his eyes.

The surrounding area immediately came into clear mental focus as he extended his vast consciousness outward over the nearby land. Thousands of insects and rodents were still burrowed underground, not yet willing to brave the cool air of the chilled morning. Hundreds of birds and squirrels were beginning to awaken in the tall trees. He quickly coated all of their busy minds with his own and began "listening" to all of their thoughts at once; a skill that had once taken him hours to perform now was easily accomplished in mere seconds. He pushed his mind farther out till he began to encounter larger beasts. A herd of deer was lazily grazing in a nearby field, a large eagle was soaring high in the sky, and a lone wolf was stalking in the woods very near Eragon's position.

Curious, Eragon focused more intently upon the lone wolf. The beast was a magnificent specimen of the perfect predator. Eragon noticed the keen senses with which the wolf studied the surrounding area. Eyes that could penetrate the deepest darkness, ears that could hear the footfalls of a field mouse, a nose that could catch one scent out of hundreds, and an inward drive to survive. Eragon focused on the creature's physique more intently. Powerful muscles rippled beneath a thick layer of black fur. Long, sleek legs padded softly across the lush ground. Every ounce of focus the wolf possessed was intent on the hunt.

Eragon withdrew slightly from his meditation. After a few moments he slowly brought himself back to his own mind and rose steadily to his feet. The loose shirt he wore would get in the way so he removed it from his torso. The chilled morning air bit into his skin for a moment and sent shivers running through his body. He laid the shirt and his sword down on the edge of his training area and began to move fluidly through the various stages of the Rigmar.

It only took him ten minutes to perform the first stage and just fifteen minutes more to finish the second and third. The fourth still proved a challenge to him, even with his years of practice and advanced abilities. There was still a part of him that was too human to do such complex and flexible movements. After nearly an hour, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily, Eragon picked up his sword and unsheathed the sapphire blade.

For a few moments he merely stood there, enamored completely by the perfection of the blade. Then, with no warning, he spun around and slashed Brisingr through the air. Imaginary opponents began falling by the hundreds, none able to defend themselves against the wrath of the most powerful man alive.

He moved almost too swiftly to be seen clearly, every combination and thrust becoming faster and more powerful, yet under complete control. Sweat poured down his chest and back, glistening in the new sun. It was more than a training session or a routine to Eragon. It was what he loved. Just him, the blade, and his mind, none could tame him.

Eragon smiled to himself. Saphira's animalistic fierceness and powerful will had definitely crossed their bond and engrained itself into Eragon's personality, a change he was glad had occurred. He now possessed an air of authority and strength that no one could quite translate, but none could deny its existence.

He continued his swordplay for several more minutes. He closed his eyes and continued to play out scenarios in his mind, forcing himself to adjust to and parry invisible blows. But suddenly, a change happened. The foes in his mind began to come into clearer focus. Eragon found himself in the midst of a battle he could not escape, a battle against his memories.

_He was in the Great Hall of Tronjheim beneath the shining Isidar Mithrim, dueling a maroon-haired shade with eyes of fury and a soul of hate. His blade was suddenly blood red, not blue, and it was swapping blows with a wicked looking single-edged sword. A long scratch was running from the blade's handle nearly to the tip. Eragon felt a hot pain shoot across his back as the image blurred momentarily before coming back into sharp focus. _

_Now he was in a burning desert, dueling a man with a familiar face. He still held Zar'roc in his hands, but the blade would only belong to him for a few more moments. Again the image twisted and blurred till he was in a different place. _

_Eragon now faced an army of foes, all simple soldiers, totally incapable of defending themselves against the wrath of the Blue Rider, yet still they charged. Eragon was forced to relive the bloody deaths of hundreds whom he had slain in battle. _

The feel of metal severing flesh and cleaving limbs sickened his stomach and stained his mind. Yet the momentary madness held the rider captive for one more blood-filled memory.

_His hand clenched his blade tightly. Before him stood the Menace, the Evil his predecessors had been fighting for one hundred years, Galbatorix. Their blades met and parted with the fury of all the ages. Innocent cries echoed in Eragon's ears, begging for their vengance against the Black Malice. The blue rider strives with all his might, but for an instant, he falters. In that instant the king manages to slash Eragon's shoulder with his midnight blade. _

The vision suddenly broke and Eragon came back to himself. He was panting hard and sweat drenched his body. A dull pain throbbed in his back and left shoulder. Eragon did not want to believe it, but here it was. The mistakes of his past were alive. What they would force him to endure, he did not know. How much would he have to suffer? His mind raced wildly as the pain slowly abated. With great care, Eragon lifted his head and opened his eyes.

Saphira had felt his distress and was sitting in front of him, waiting for the fit to pass. She immediately showered him with her concern and grief at his pain. Worry was evident in her thoughts, and Eragon knew his mind was racing in the same manner as hers. No words were spoken for some time. This had happened before, but never to this extent. Eragon had suffered nightmares and sleepless nights as the ghosts of his past reared up for vengeance from time to time, but never had they inflicted bodily pain. And never had the memories flashed so cruelly across his mind's eye. Eragon finally stood up. The sunlight glimmered off his bronzed body, revealing two startling marks on his sweat covered skin. Eragon instantly felt surprise and fear rise in Saphira's heart and it mirrored in his own mind as he witnessed what she was seeing through their connection.

A short, straight scar had appeared on Eragon's left shoulder; exactly where the mad king had wounded him so long ago. The rider stood still as Saphira circled him to answer the question they were both thinking. Their fears were confirmed as a long, reddish line slowly rose on Eragon's muscled back; running from his upper right shoulder blade and nearly all the way down to his left hip.

_Eragon, _Saphira's thoughts were choked with sorrow and concern. Eragon just stood there, quietly thinking to himself.

_Why? What has happened? Have we not suffered enough? _He was thinking more to himself than speaking to Saphira, but she could hear his inward struggle.

Saphira pushed deeper into his mind and Eragon gave her no resistance. She slowly merged so deeply into his conscious that she was literally seeing and feeling from his perspective. For several moments she studied his wounds and tried to solve the puzzle. After much thought, she parted from him and slowly mulled over the issue.

_It seems to me that the main issue is the shoulder. Galbatorix's wound is the worse of the two and Durza's slash is seemingly fed, or caused by the first. Maybe the king discovered some dark magic and tied it into his blade, then taught Durza to do the same. Obviously the king's curse would be more powerful. Maybe his wound is awakening Durza's stripe. _

Eragon pondered for several moments. _But why now? The dragons healed Durza's wound one hundred years ago and I never had an issue healing the wound the king inflicted upon me. What has triggered it? _

Neither had an answer. For a long time they explored possibilities and theories, each one as unlikely as the next. Finally, an idea came to Saphira.

_Well, the Black Blade is in Ellesmera. It could not be destroyed so it was given back to its creator. We could go examine it to see if there is anything unusual about it. _

Eragon knew it was a slim hope. If Rhunon had not noticed anything unusual about it then it was likely no use, but they were out of options. He nodded his head and the pair made ready to go see the king, the thoughts of the morning's occurrence weighing heavily on their minds.

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The dragon and rider made their appearance before Lord Dethmilean, King of the Elves, later that morning. Eragon admired and respected him a great deal. The formalities went smoothly and everything seemed to be well on the outside, but inwardly Eragon and Saphira were in turmoil. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his duties as a leader and diplomat, a dull throbbing pain in his shoulder always lured Eragon's attention.

The next days went by slowly. Eragon loved the elves and their beautiful society, but the combined weight of his duty as a Rider and the new curse he secretly bore began to wear on him. And there was always that one lagging thought in the back of his mind, Arya.

From time to time he would glance twice at a passing elf or a distant movement, only to find a stranger or passing shadow. She was nowhere to be found, and Eragon dared not ask for her. Many already talked and murmured about their ongoing struggle and he did not wish to add fuel to the fire, nor did he wish for Arya to think he was seeking her out. As Saphira had suggested, he would await her next move, whatever, or whenever it may be.

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_Eragon was standing before a tall, dark shadow. His hands were bound tightly behind his back. Pain coursed through his body, nearly rendering him incapable of standing. The area around him was blurred, as if he was in a large space, but could only see a few feet away. Faint cries were echoing around him, but who, or what their source was, he did not know. _

_He shifted his body and shook his head, trying to focus himself. "This can't be real" he breathed to himself. Slowly, the surroundings began to come into sharper focus. The first thing he noticed were his bound hands. As he turned to see what was causing this, he found that someone had stripped his shirt off and had beaten him severely. Bruises and cuts colored his ribs and back. The pain intensified. _

_Suddenly, a cold, sick feeling came over him. He slowly turned his eyes forward and focused on the tall shadow in front of him. A menacing, wicked laugh filled his ears as the figure materialized before his eyes. "Galbatorix" Eragon whispered to himself. The rage and hate was evident in the rider's voice. _

"_You have finally awakened Rider, good." The voice of the king was lifeless and dark; evidence of the madness he had chosen to wrap himself in. Eragon said nothing, but simply stood there, knowing there was nothing he could do. The fight had been lost. It was over. _

_The king laughed, apparently amused by the despair that painted Eragon's features. He came closer to Eragon and studied him closely with black eyes. Eragon returned his gaze without fear or hesitation. After all, he had lost everything; there was no reason to fear anything anymore. A wicked smile appeared on the king's face. He bent down and whispered quietly in Eragon's ear._

"_You almost cost me everything shadeslayer. You took much from me. You dedicated your life to my demise. You sacrificed everything to bring about my ruin." The king paused as he pulled back to look the rider in the eyes. "Well, almost everything." _

_Eragon felt confused. The king studied him with an amused grin, like a teacher studies a confused student. Eragon looked up at the king questioningly, but the king gave no verbal answer. He merely turned aside and gestured to his left. _

_Now Eragon studied his surroundings. He was on a large stage in the courtyard of a castle. Thousands of witnesses stood silently, waiting to see what the king had in store for the rebel rider. They studied Eragon with faces of hatred and bitterness. Not a friendly or compassionate look was to be found. Eragon shuddered as he realized he was hated and despised by those he meant to free. The people had been twisted by the Dark King. _

_He hung his head low in shame and despair. A sudden, piercing cry caught his attention. Eragon looked over to see Saphira, bound and surrounded by guards, across from him on another large stage. A heavy steel chain was muzzling her mouth shut. More restraints pinned her wings to her sides. Dark, crimson blood flowed from several placed on her body._

_Eragon began to struggle desperately against his chains and frantically tried to contact her mentally only to find that his chains were held fast and his mental abilities were being blocked somehow. Saphira looked back at him. All the life was gone from her eyes. Her head was hung low and Eragon could tell she had been tortured severely. _

_Suddenly, a black shadow passed over the crowd. To Eragon's utter despair, the black dragon landed next to Saphira and roared triumphantly. He once again tried to free himself, but to no avail. The crowd jeered and laughed as they witnessed his struggle. _

_Then, another sound caught his ear. A deep, sick feeling gripped his heart. He turned his eyes to find Arya being dragged onto his stage and thrown down violently by his side. She was nearly naked and she had been beaten as badly as he had. Rage and anger kindled in his heart, but to no avail. All he could do was watch. _

_The king strode confidently across the stage and ran a long, thin hand over the elf's slender form, his eyes held a wicked glint that sent chills down the rider's spine. He then moved over to Eragon and whispered again in his ear. _

"_You tried to take everything from me. I offered you a place at my side, but you were too foolish to accept." The king looked away and seemed to be reflecting on some evil thought. He sighed before continuing, "I am going to take everything from you Eragon. You will suffer till you beg for release. That is what happens to those who challenge me." The king smiled, and then turned quickly to the crowd._

_Eragon did not listen to his words. Instead he focused on trying to communicate with Arya and Saphira, but again without success. Arya just laid their, covered in blood and breathing heavily. Saphira was staring at the cloudy sky, a sky she would never be able to fly in again. Tears began to flood Eragon's eyes. _

_The crowd cheered loudly and pulled Eragon from his grieving thoughts. The king spoke loudly. "Witness the death of the vile creature who slew your husbands and brothers! Hear her dying shrieks and take joy in the freedom her death will bring!" _

_Shruikan roared loudly and bit down fiercely on Saphira's neck. _

_Eragon cried out with all the fury he could muster. "NO! Saphira!" But his words never reached her. Eragon cried loudly as he watched the light leave Saphira's eyes. She was gone. Eragon sobbed uncontrollably as the crowd cheered and mocked him violently._

_The king strode over to Arya and motioned for the guards to lift her up. They roughly obeyed. The king walked quietly over and pulled a long, black blade from his scabbard. He brought Arya right in front of Eragon, forcing the two to look each other in the eye. _

_Tears were spilling from Arya's eyes. The king looked from one to the other with a wicked smile on his face. _

"_Eragon," Arya's voice sounded quietly in his ears, "I would have loved you." The words shattered Eragon's heart and tears fell uncontrollably from his eyes. The king chuckled to himself and brought the blade to Arya's neck. With a swift, sudden motion, the blade was drawn across her porcelain flesh and slit a perfect line across her throat. Blood immediately drenched her front. The king moved away and allowed her lifeless body to fall to the ground at Eragon's feet. _

_Again the crowd cheered. Eragon could not breathe. He just stood there, looking at the love of his life, now gone forever. _

_Everything began to fade. _

Eragon shot up. His body was sweat drenched and his breathing was labored. Saphira quickly nuzzled him and a giant tear slipped from her eye and landed with a quiet splash beside him.

_Oh little one! I am sorry! _

Eragon was still in shock. His mind was in overdrive and his shoulder throbbed with an intense pain that burned and penetrated his flesh. The mind can only take so much.

_Eragon, all is well! I am here and I love you and nothing can harm us! We are all safe and whole. This is a mere burden. We can get through this._

Her words finally shook him and reached his heart.

_Saphira. _He said it as if he had not seen her in years. He reached out and embraced her tightly.

_All will be well little one. I will not allow this to defeat us. _

_How? _Eragon's voice was painted with hesitance and fear. The king's curse was beginning to affect him.

_You just rest and allow me to worry about this. I have something in mind already. _

Eragon was curious, but too tired to inquire further.

_I will trust you Saphira. Until then though, I think I must stop using the draumr kopa. Maybe if I sleep the traditional way these nightmares will not occur. _

Saphira hummed deeply in her throat. _Very well rider. I will stay with you for the rest of tonight. Tomorrow I must leave you though. All will be explained in good time._

Eragon was still curious as to what she had in mind, but a feeling of peace was beginning to overcome him. All would be well as long as he had Saphira to care for him. For a time they remained awake and talked of fond memories and better times, but eventually exhaustion overtook Eragon and he fell to sleep for the first time in a hundred years.

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Things are going to start picking up quickly with this story, but it may be a while before i can update. Review!!


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